


Post-Election Blues

by derryderrydown



Category: British Comedian RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-09
Updated: 2010-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-09 09:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryderrydown/pseuds/derryderrydown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armando Ianucci said that his abiding memory of the three-hour live election special he hosted was sitting on a beer-soaked carpet afterwards with Valerie Singleton. This made me start thinking about Charlie and David on a beer-soaked carpet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Post-Election Blues

David woke up with his face buried in what was unmistakeably somebody's armpit. Further cataloguing of his body parts revealed that his right arm was draped over somebody's hips and his leg was over somebody's knee. And, as if the hairy armpit and unfeminine hips hadn't been sufficient indication, his right forearm was nudging against something that made it absolutely certain that the somebody was male.

His first instinct was to run but he fought it down. First, he probably couldn't move without waking the somebody. Second, he didn't know where he was. Third, he was fairly certain he'd projectile vomit if he tried to move. Either that or his head would fall off.

Instead, he lay still and tried to remember how he got here, while breathing in the slightly sharp aroma of not-recently-washed armpit and the warm, musty smell of bedding that had gone a little too long without being changed and...

Okay, the smell of sex really shouldn't have been a surprise. Waking up in somebody else's bed with this kind of hangover invariably meant that he'd done one of his ridiculous drunken lunges and was now going to have the sort of horrific morning after that always made him swear off alcohol and sex for at least six months. He was usually far more successful at swearing off the sex than the alcohol.

The Alternative Election Night. He remembered to the end of that. That was a good start. It meant that, whatever stupidities he'd committed, he hadn't been live to the Channel-4-watching portion of the nation at the time.

And he remembered that, after filming had finished, he, Brian, Victoria and, of course, Charlie had adjourned to Charlie's flat to watch the rest of the results come in and drink to England's inevitable destruction.

Drink _heavily_ to England's inevitable destruction.

The somebody wasn't Victoria. That was definite. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or sorry. On the whole, he thought relieved. He couldn't cope with Victoria's undoubtedly scathing opinion of his drunken performance.

That meant it was between Brian and Charlie. Assuming, of course, that he hadn't left Charlie's flat at some point. Or somebody else hadn't joined them.

No, he decided. He wouldn't worry about that possibility just yet.

He thought the somebody was too short to be Brian. And squishier than he imagined Brian being. Which meant...

Well, it could have been worse, he told himself, while trying to work out _how_ it could have been worse. Perhaps if it had been both of them?

He thought about it and decided that, no, that didn't make it noticeably worse. Because it all boiled down to this stupid thing of having sex with a friend, and that always destroyed the friendship and he _liked_ being friends with-

"Charlie?"

It was Victoria's voice and David stayed as still as he could while the somebody heaved underneath him, then let out a muffled noise that might have been distantly related to, "What?"

"I didn't want to head off without letting you know. Brian's loaded the dishwasher but we couldn't find the tablets so he didn't set it going."

"Mmm," Charlie said. "Hmphgle?"

"Brian's sharing a cab with me," Victoria said. "I'll see you on Wednesday. See you, David."

Oh, god. She knew. Which was fairly inevitable but he hadn't wanted to think about it. "Bye," he said, without taking his face out of Charlie's armpit.

Charlie wriggled. "Tickles," he said. And, once Victoria had shut the bedroom door behind her, he said, "Didn't know you were awake."

"I didn't know you were," David said.

"Really, that tickles," Charlie said and, reluctantly, David rolled his head out of Charlie's armpit.

Charlie looked rough. His eyes were narrowed to slits and the bags under his eyes were even more prominent than usual. His breath was- Well, it was probably about as bad as David's own.

"I don't know what superhuman expectations you have of me," Charlie said, "but no matter how good that feels, I'm really not up to another round right now."

It took a moment for David to connect the words with the fact that his hand was resting very near Charlie's cock. And that had been bad enough when he thought that Charlie was still asleep but _now_ it was mortifying.

He snatched his hand away. "Um," he said.

"I'd offer you a cup of tea," Charlie said, "but I'm pretty sure Brian used up all my milk making some quantum bastardisation of a White Russian."

How was Charlie being so relaxed and everyday about this? Did he often wake up having been drunkenly lunged at? If he did, how did David not know this about him?

"The only thing I'm sure I've got," Charlie continued, "is water. Want some?"

"God, yes," David said, with unplanned fervour.

"It's in the tap," Charlie said. "I can't move."

"Right," David said, and managed to lift his head enough to look around Charlie's bedroom. "Um, do you know where I left my clothes?"

Charlie frowned. "Downstairs, of course."

"Oh. Of course." Of course? Of _course?_ What had he been _doing_ last night?

He looked across the expanse of bedroom to the door. He wanted to ask Charlie to close his eyes but he didn't think that was the kind of thing you could ask after you'd had sex with somebody. Instead, he sidled out from under the quilt and, trying not to instinctively suck his stomach in, started the epic journey. He was sure he couldn't normally feel his genitals moving this much.

"Wait," Charlie said, and David paused. His genitals were _wobbling._

Oh, god. He was standing, stark naked, in the middle of Charlie's bedroom and Charlie was _looking at him_. Him and his wobbly genitals.

"There's a big window on the landing. You'll probably want to put something on. There's a dressing gown in my wardrobe."

"Oh," David said, and thankfully helped himself to the dressing gown.

Halfway down the stairs, he had a flash of memory.

Strip election results.

Oh, god. Had he really played strip election results with Brian Cox? _Brian Cox?_

It was coming back now. Including the horrific realisation that the whole thing had been his own suggestion. Which was why he had ended up losing clothing whenever a seat was declared for the Conservatives. Charlie had taken Labour, Brian had gone Lib Dem and Victoria had tried to go for Green but had been over-ruled and declared Other.

Water, he decided. Rehydration would make everything better. Or at least it would seem better when he didn't feel so appalling.

The kitchen was tidier than Charlie normally kept it, with only the overflowing bin and carefully sorted recyclables to show just how much destruction had been wrought last night.

There weren't any clean glasses. Of _course_ there weren't any clean glasses. That would make things simple. Mugs were similarly conspicuous by their absence.

There were, however, bowls.

David did consider washing a glass, which he thought was quite civilised of him. But it was perfectly possible to drink from a bowl and, frankly, the smell of a dirty dishwasher would probably overcome his fragile hold on his nausea.

The water was blissfully cold and nothing from a London tap had ever tasted so delicious.

After drinking two bowls, he remembered Charlie upstairs, too hungover to move. And it wasn't Charlie's fault he'd been the recipient of one of David's drunken attacks of uncontrolled libido. A bowl of water was the least David could do to apologise.

The journey back upstairs was precarious. It took nearly as much concentration to stay upright as it did to keep most of the water in the bowl. By the time he nudged Charlie's bedroom door open, the bowl was only two-thirds full. It was, David decided, better than nothing.

Charlie was asleep, with one skinny leg sticking out from under the quilt.

David had a brief moment of finding Charlie _adorable_, of all things, closely followed by a twinge of irritation at his generosity being wasted.

However, Charlie would wake up at some point and appreciate the water just as much then as he would now. David made space for the bowl by pushing aside the pile of books on the bedside table. Celebrity autobiographies, he noted in affectionate horror.

And then he stopped. There was something not right here. This wasn't like his usual drunken one-night-stands.

He.

He didn't want to run away.

In fact, he was tempted to crawl back into the warmth of Charlie's bed.

Thankfully, at the point when he was giving it serious consideration, his sluggish brain woke up to the fact that one part of his body's litany of complaints was to do with an overly full bladder.

On the way back downstairs, he gave himself a stern talking-to. Charlie knew about David's history of drunken lunges. He knew, therefore, that they were nothing to do with anything other than physical needs. Throwing emotions into the mix was changing the rules and completely unfair to Charlie.

At the bottom of the stairs, he paused and stared at the sofa.

Oh, yes. He remembered now. It had definitely been a drunken lunge. A naked drunken lunge. In front of Brian Cox and Victoria Coren.

He'd been on his way back from the kitchen and he'd had to step over Charlie to get to the vacant space on the sofa. And he'd put his hands on Charlie's shoulders for balance and then-

Well, Charlie really hadn't objected. That was something to be grateful for.

He continued through the kitchen to the bathroom, and winced at the sight of himself in the giant mirror.

Hang on. He remembered kissing Charlie in here.

Had they come in here on their way to the bedroom? Had he lunged here before lunging on the sofa?

No. No, he definitely didn't remember lunging in here.

But he did remember looking over Charlie's shoulder as they kissed and watching Charlie's back reflected in the mirror.

They must have decided on a toilet break before going upstairs. Which showed a surprising amount of sense for people as drunk as they must have been.

David had to shut his eyes as he pissed. He always did in Charlie's bathroom because the sight of himself in that mirror was enough to put anybody off.

Standing there with his eyes shut, his cock in his hand, he remembered something else. The sound of the door quietly opening behind him as he washed his hands.

And turning round to see Charlie leaning back against the door, just for a moment, before he pushed himself upright and took the couple of steps to David and-

Well, Charlie didn't lunge. He just kissed him.

Soft and wet and so fucking _restrained_.

And David had just stood there, like a fucking idiot, mouth open more from surprise than from participation.

Until Charlie stepped back, shrugged and said, "Figured I might as well try it while we're both pissed enough I can brush it off as drunken idiocy. Sorry."

And he turned to leave but David said, "Wait." When Charlie stopped, hand on door and back still to David, David had said, "What? Why?"

"You really haven't noticed?" Charlie said, still not turning round.

"Noticed _what?_"

"I've been flirting with you for a _year_."

"You have?"

"Fucking hell," Charlie said. "You really _didn't_ know." He shook his head said, "Well, now you do," and left.

Well, David thought, and started washing his hands. That made it a bit different. And he helped himself to a squirt of toothpaste.

Charlie was awake and looking nearly human when David went back upstairs, and the bowl of water was empty.

"Look," Charlie said. "Earlier. You seemed... How much do you remember about last night?"

David dropped the dressing gown on the floor and slid under the covers. "All the important bits," he said, and kissed Charlie.


End file.
